They forced me to sing for the president
so i brought a three-string ukulele and
a pocket of thumb tacks

in first grade they charmed us like
cobras-- 
held a flag dangled as a dead rat
and told us to jump for the dreams
we shook loose from McDonald's wrappers--
this is our Big Mac-- the greasy bed
sheets of another morning 
where i smell his sweat on my blankets
even though i've been washing them
for six years-- 
i have been swaddled in processed cheese
squares-- melted-- devoured--
that's what they want us for--
a sexy wrapper strip tease of this girl 
in oil-- breaded and chicken fries--
when i was twelve i could
sing happy birthday on the
dissonant three sings
of my ukulele-- 
ask me to sing about a fist full
of hair in the hands of another man-- 
this hair is the reigns of
his horse and carriage sex fantasy--
yes mr. president yes
i still remember what my rapist 
smelled like
yes mr. president yes
i'll call you daddy because you
have no problem fucking the 
freedom out of another daughter--
use as the horse
to get to your throne-room--
i'm told to sing in the corner
of the office-- the oval
of another male gaze--
they didn't ask me to vote-- they 
didn't take my thumbprints in ink
this is blood--
i voted against you with my blood
with my throat bruised
in lavender roots--
the men shaved my head 
like a cobra-- 
laughed how they could
teach a whore to sing between the
strings of her ukulele--
demanded 
a song and they'll get one--
i'm going to sing your words
into our truth
the truth that you can 
grab me by the pussy but you 
can't keep us silent for 
four years--
America-- i see my rapist 
gilded as a God-- i see
the racial slurs on the bathroom
walls-- 
and i'll say i'm a faggot so you 
don't say it first--
yes mr. president
i'm building a wall-- 
i'm building great wall 
longer than the one in China--
my wall holds immigrants--
my wall holds Syria-- Muslims--
my wall speaks Spanish
La pared, la pared y 
voy a cruzar el río
con ustedes
son familia 
son familia sin sangre
en sangre
my wall is sung on three
ukulele strings-- my wall 
is built with this skin
without virginity--
this wall is for the fat 
bodies-- this wall is for
the black bodies--
this wall measures the inches
of ice caps melting
into squares of processed cheese
on the hamburgers of our monarch--
for the next four years
i'm keeping a pocket full of thumb
tacks and you can take that how 
you will--
these are for fists--
for flyers--
for patches in a wall we're going
to have to build and re-build--
for pinning ourselves 
to the torso of
trees-- for hanging the carcass
of the flag above our children's heads
and telling them there's something
still left there to sing--
so yes i'll sing for you
mr. president--
i'll sing for you
with a pocket full of thumb tacks
and a ukulele with three strings--
take that how you will--